


Stained

by Tangerines



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Deidara is the worst wingman, F/M, He's too dumb to realize it, I Tried, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Sasori has emotions, Sasori is in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-09 21:38:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7818253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tangerines/pseuds/Tangerines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten times in which Sasori's life was already stained pink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stained

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize in advance for any grammatical errors. Enjoy.

  Pink. Out of all the colours in his palette, pink was the colour that annoyed him the most. Sasori frowned as he dragged the brush across the plain canvas. Newly bought white bristle paint brushes laid neatly on the side, stained with shades of pink and green.

  **i.**

    The first time he saw her, she was carrying a large canvas to her art studio, stumbling and shouting obscenities as she went. When she tripped and fell in an ungracious manner, Sasori offered his hand without thinking. _"My name is Haruno Sakura."_ He flinched when he felt her small warm hands grab his.

Sasori felt the unfamiliar tingling sensation spreading in the pit of his stomach, he clicked his tongue at the cliche situation. He was dizzy and light-headed, hands beginning to drench in sweat. Sasori quickly released his hand and wiped it on his shirt. Sneering in disgust, he left. _"Watch where you're going."_ The first time he saw Sakura, he ignored her.

**ii.**

    She sat directly in front of him, uninvited. Much to his annoyance, he couldn't help but study her, it's not everyday that you have a girl with _pink_ hair sits in front of you.

   He observed the way her slender fingers wrapped around the handle of her mug, to the way she licked the crumbs of her broken croissant from the corner of her lips, his eyes watched the movement very carefully. Tracing the outlines of her lips, he pondered to himself what those lips would taste like.

Sasori shoved the thought away and looked elsewhere. Disarrayed stands of pink fell apart from her messy updo, his hand twitched with the urge to run his fingers through cotton candy locks. He wanted to preserve the unique beauty, ~~he wanted to paint her, not make her into a puppet, what sick psycho does that?~~ Sasori wanted her. The second time he saw Sakura, he tried to ignore her.

  **iii.**

    Despite the oversized, baggy green sweater she was wearing beneath her shorts, Sasori could see the way her hips curved and swayed as she moved around the studio. She moved with grace, dainty feet gliding across the floor as she hummed to an unfamiliar tune. She turned around and smiled at him, revealing pearly white teeth. Sasori frowned, brows furrowed.

He stiffened when he felt her kiss the area between his eyebrows, smoothing away the wrinkled skin."Frowning can cause wrinkles." She sat beside him and pulled her knees to her chest, the large sweater poorly concealed her smooth, creamy thighs. She didn't seem to notice. The third time Sasori met Sakura, he couldn't ignore her.

**iv.**

    When Sakura stretched, her shirt would rise up and Sasori would catch a glimpse of her skin. He imagined drawing the individual toned muscles, sketching and shading the details of her anatomy.

Small droplets of sweat beads formed at her nape and clung to her collarbones. It dripped and trickled down her back and chest, falling between the small valleys of her breast. Sasori wanted to tear away the loose fabric and taste the salty sweat, licking and kissing every inch of her skin until he memorized every part of her body.

Oblivious, Sakura threw her running shoes to the corner of the room and chugged her water.

The fourth time he saw her, Sasori secretly appreciated her firm ass from afar.

**v.**

     "Oy, Danna you've been eye fucking her for the past thirty minutes. You like her, yeah?" Sasori scowled and turned his direction elsewhere. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he mumbled. Deidara threw his arm around him and laughed, "Who's the lucky girl?" Cerulean blue eyes scanned the room, at the sight of the rosette sitting at the far end corner of the room, he let out a whistle and sent Sasori his signature cheshire grin.

Sasori kicked him in the shins and returned to his sketches, yet he continued to watch her in the corner of his eyes. She had let her hair down today. Carefully brushed pink locks framed her face. Sakura wore a dress, which was unusually since Sasori was accustomed to seeing her in only thick sweaters.

She wore a white dress with floral patterns that clung tightly to her chest while flaring out at the dip of her hip and reached to her mid thigh. On top of that she wore a navy blue cardigan with golden buttons. He wasn't complaining, he hummed in appreciation at her toned calves that peeked beneath the hem of her dress.

"She's got a nice rack, yeah." Sasori glowered at the blond. To his horror, Sakura had approached him and greeted Deidara. Sasori clenched his fist and refused to acknowledge her presence, he continued scribbling angrily in his sketch book.

Deidara had managed to charm the rosette, however as attractive as he was, Deidara was cocky and he hadn't known about her quick temper. His mistake was snaking his hand up her skirt, skimming the surface of her skin with calloused fingers.

Sasori felt the pencil snap to pieces beneath his grip, splinters punctured through his skin, he was livid and far too angry to notice the pain or the blood dripping down his fingers.

Sakura smiled at the blond, she slapped his hand away and punched him. She sent an uppercut and managed to knock Deidara to the ground. 

"Please refrain from touching me," she said in a gentle voice.

She turned her back to him and made her way towards the door. A sly smile tugged at the corners of his lips. The fifth time Sasori saw Sakura, he was captivated, and he knew now to never be on the receiving end of her temper ~~and fist.~~

  **vi.**

    The sixth time he saw her, she was wearing a white gown.

An oxygen mask pressed against her face, the heart monitor beeping weakly. Sasori threw the door open, ignoring the nurse that tried to usher him out of the room. His steps were slow and heavy, he wanted to touch her, to reach out and feel the warmth of her skin.

He called out her name, hoping that she would smile and respond the way she usually did. Silence. He was afraid. Scared, terrified that he would never be able to see her apple green eyes filled with intelligence and wild fire.

Bruises, black and blue marred her cheeks, lacerations and cuts littered her arms, bright angry looking wounds where smooth skin was suppose to be.

Sasori was unable to speak, he felt the constriction of the muscles within his throat. It was strangling him. He buried his face on her chest, clinging to her tightly.

The doctor had explained that Sakura was hit by a drunk driver on her way to the bus stop. By the time she arrived at the hospital, she was nearly approaching death, barely clinging onto life. The notion of losing Sakura tore him apart. He couldn't lose her.

  **vii.**

     During his seventh encounter, she sat in front of him. This time he didn't feel irritated, instead he watched as she stared out the window, book forgotten. Her emerald eyes, glassy and lost in thought.

Large pools of green that would look at him with kindness and adoration, now resembled an empty waste land.

Sakura recovered from the accident, but the damage was already done. White bandages wrapped tightly around her arms, Sasori knew that beneath them were the rough rugged scars that the wounds left behind.

"Thank you." She whispered.

Sasori's head snapped back up, "For what?" Sakura's voice trembled, she swallowed thickly before replying. "For being there."

He placed his pencil down, gently putting it aside. "What about your family?" She flinched.

"They couldn't make it." Sasori got up and moved quicker than he had ever done in his life, he wrapped his arms around her fragile body and awkwardly patted her head. "They're gone." She said, voice barely audible.

Sakura couldn't stop the tears from soaking the fabric of his shirt. He held her tighter. "I don't have anyone." Her sobs echoed within the empty studio, drowning the silence with her cries.

"You have me." Sasori was never the sentimental type, but he'd watched enough soap operas to know that this situation called for sentimental words and awkward pats, which he continued doing because Sasori was never social and he didn't know how to comfort people. Especially a sobbing mop of pink that was soaking his shirt with tears, and you know, snot.

**viii.**

    Sasori paused to unlock his door and shoved it open, before returning to her lips. He hungrily devoured them with greed, he laughed internally at the hypocritical mess he was in. He made fun of Deidara for being a manwhore and yet here he was sucking the face of Sakura Haruno. 

She pressed her soft lips against his, returning the gesture. He slammed the door closed with the tip of his foot, and shrugged off his jacket.

Sakura let out a groan when he lifted her against the wall, she wrapped her legs around his waist, gripping them tightly. He recklessly tore off her thin white shirt, pausing only to take his off as well. 

She covered her arms, failing to hide the thin white scars on her arms. Sakura felt ugly, tarnished. He thought she was beautiful. Sasori gently moved her hands away and kissed the scars, each and every one of them. "Don't ever hide these things from me," he murmured.

He carried her towards his bedroom and ~~roughly hurled her small body on the bed, slamming it against the mattress and grinding against her because he was not a patient person~~ carefully laid her on the bed. Sakura gripped the silky sheets, her back arched when his hands wandered to her chest. The eighth time he was with her, Sasori ~~was no longer a virgin~~ never wanted to let her go.

**ix.**

    Sasori brought the mug closer to his lips, sipping the hot liquid too quickly that it nearly burned his tongue. Sakura was standing in his kitchen making pancakes on his stove. She was wearing a thick lavender sweater with _his_ shorts.

It was far too large on her figure and barely hung on her hip. Her hair was all tangled and it stuck out in odd places, it was frizzy and it looked like an untamed pink mop on her head. Sasori loved that hair.

"I hope you like raspberry pancakes, we ran out of chocolate," Sakura sulked as she placed the plates down.

"It's fine." Sasori was content with whatever Sakura made for him. He bent over and pressed his lips against hers, it tasted of syrup and raspberries.

Sakura hummed in response. When he pulled away she pouted. "You had some syrup on your lips," he answered seriously. She threw her head back and laughed, "You could have told me!"

He shrugged. "I could have." Sakura walked over and sat on his lap, slim fingers cupped his face. "You don't have to make excuses to kiss me, you know." She traced his jawline, the curve of his nose bridge, and over his lips.

Sasori rested his hands on her waist, drawing lazy circles. He slipped his hands up her shirt and smiled when she let out a gasp.

"Your hands are cold!" He leaned his head forward, nuzzling the side of her neck, "Don't ever leave me." Sakura petted his head, running her fingers through the soft mass of red.

"I would never leave you."

The ninth time he saw her, Sasori wanted to ravish her on his own dinning table, but he didn't want to risk ruining the pancakes that Sakura had prepared for the both of them.

**x.  
**

    Sasori woke up to the soft pitter-patter of rain beating against the window. The room was cold, he was used to that. His side was warm, he was not used to that. He felt his arm wrapped around the waist of an unfamiliar, yet familiar figure.

Sakura. He was lying in bed with Sakura. It was strange yet it felt so _right._ He played with a strand of pink, rolling it between his thumb and index finger. Sasori suppressed a smile when he noticed dried paint matted in her tresses. Cobalt, sapphire, azure. Various shades of blue mixed in with the pink, he imaged the results, creating shades of violets and purples. His hand slipped and cupped her cheek gently.

Pale pink lashes fluttered against the cheekbones, revealing green eyes. If there was something that Sasori would never grow tired of seeing, they were her eyes. They were green, the sort of green that resembled the beginning of spring; filled with life and the rich emerald that decorated Mother Nature's cloak.

"Why are you staring so intensely?" She inquired quietly. "Go back to sleep," he answered as he hugged her from behind.

Instead of resting his fingers on the curve of her waist, he chose to lay it over he hand. Sakura always cared about her hands, the evidence was evident from her neatly filed nails. " _An artist's hands are important."_ She once told him. Despite that, Sakura was an artist and her hands were bound to get dirty. There was dried cracked paint, dirt and grim beneath her nails and he knew she would spend hours in the bath washing her hands.

Sasori traced the outline of her fingers, from the side of her digits and all the way to her knuckles. He stopped at her ring finger, directly over her wedding band. It was golden and had a simple elegant design adorned with miniature specks of diamonds. 

The ring once belonged to his deceased grandmother who gave it to him before she passed.

The tenth time, Sasori never thought he would ever find use for the ring, until now, until _her_. Now it wrapped around Sakura's finger like it was meant to be there.

  **xi.**

     Sakura entered the studio and approached the figure from behind. She carefully wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him tight. "What are you painting?" When she glanced up, her breath hitched. He had painted a portrait of cherry blossoms. "It's you." Sakura laughed, her eyes watery. "You're saying I'm a tree?" Sasori shrugged, "Well it _is_ a sakura tree."

He watched her, observing her reactions. Sasori was a man who found love to be unnecessary and complicated. Love clouded his judgements and influenced him to make reckless mistakes. Love was a sign of weakness. Love was ugly, but _she_ was not.

Sasori felt his chest collapse as his heart thumped wildly. It was painful. _"Just this once..."_ He thought to himself.  He turned around and dragged her onto his lap. Gentle fingers lifted the pink hair and parted it onto the side, exposing her pale neck. "I love you." She whispered, angling her neck to give him better access because she trusted him. Only _him_. Sasori pressed his lips against the warm surface of her skin. He inhaled her scent and indulged in the fact that she had a mixture of both their scents. Sakura was intoxicating, Sasori wasn't sure whether or not that was a good thing or a bad thing, or neither. He knew that just this once he would allow himself to love, because  _she_ was an exception, one that he was willing to make. "I love you, too."

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaaaannnnndddddd this is my first written work. Thank you so much for taking the time to absorb this poorly written work of Sasori's point of view and his poor heart. I spent my entire summer sobbing over the possibilities of Sakura/Everyone because it's kinda hard to pick a favourite.


End file.
